In the Engine Room

"I am not afraid of storms, for I am learning how to sail my ship," Louisa May Alcott.



The muddy river water pools around my feet, which are thrust beneath the seat in front of me.  My left hip is hugging the gunnel's edge, while the right one is slightly rotated away from the middle, allowing greater reach with my paddle.  Sweat continues down my face, under my chin and quickly disappears inside the life preserver hugging my chest.  The temperature inside the vest must be ten degrees hotter than the air temperature, which is hovering around 83 degrees.  Above me, an American Eagle glides gracefully through the air -- unlike the 595 pound boat which I find myself in.  Around us, the Black River is a choppy assortment of waves and debris aided by a gusty July wind.

Our steersman yells, "Attention madam!  Paddles ready!"

I ask myself one last time, am I ready?  How did I find myself in this boat again?  What sounded like a good idea last year has become reality along with the aching muscles and sore back.  Mentally I am focused on the water lapping against the side of the boat.  It is a brownish-green liquid about to be slice and pulled behind by my wooden paddle.  Physically, I am stiff despite the ten minute warm-up consisting of squats and arm circles.  It will only get worse.

The air horn to my right blasts the silence as 20 paddles plunge simultaneously into the water. 

 

It has been nearly a year since my last visit to the Engine Room.

During that time, I have turned another year older, scratched my cornea twice, broken my thumb and volunteered to be a part of the Big Blue Dragon Boat Race held in La Crosse on the fifth day of July.  Some more painful than others, but valuable lessons -- each and every one.

Unlike my last race in Dubuque, Iowa, my understanding of the sport of dragon boat racing is much better.  Our crew of doctors, therapists and nurses are now familiar to me.  Friendly faces which were smiling with the satisfaction of participating are now replaced with a determined visage inoculated with knowledge from a winter camp held in Florida.

The Engine Room, not to be confused with the Timing Box or Terminators, is now etched permanently in my mind as a place where your paddle digs deep and pulls with power for practically the entire race.  I joked with my wife that they hired me for my muscle, not my mind  (and then she tells me they must not think much of my muscle either, because they're not paying me anything).

The Engine Room is located in the middle of the boat in rows 4, 5, 6 and 7.  My row companion is a big man who likes to remind me that there is always more to give.  When you think you've paddled as hard as you can, there is always another attempt where you will be asked to give "just a little more."  John -- who broke a paddle in the Dubuque race -- is also the only one of us who can get us to laugh by doing a bluegrass boogie dance best left to the imagination.

The night before the race I dreamt that I was rowing so hard that one of my arms fell off -- much like the movie "Monte Python and the Holy Grail."  Lori, who is one of our lead strokers, turns around and says, "Don't stop paddling!  Use your other arm!"  My dream continues, of course, until I've lost both arms and legs. For passionate strokers like Lori, the Engine Room is ALL about effort.

The Timing Box is the first 3 rows and includes our lead strokers.  This is an area where some of our most determined rowers set the pace for the entire boat.  Our practices stressed the importance of three things -- all under the influence of those people in the Timing Box --  timing, endurance and focus.

The success of our boat starts with the timing set by our two lead strokers.  It is critical to get a good start.  If not, you will find yourself half a boat length behind the leader before you can finish your initial push.  For this year's first two races we went with a wet start, which meant we buried the paddle up to our hands.  When we found ourselves falling behind, we switched to a dry start, which gave us a better jump on the competition and resulted in a reduction of almost 2 seconds.

Endurance is equally important for the middle of the race, and one we seemed to excel at.  In every race we gained on the lead boat the longer we paddled.  With each race going 300 meters, your Timing Box must set the pace to a level that can be maintained for most of the race.  It's not until the final 50 meters that the word goes out to push harder. This is where close races are lost or won.  Nothing gets left in the boat as we grunt, gasp and snort our way to the finish line.

Terminators are in the last three rows of the dragon boat.  These rowers must have strong front end grips to keep the pressure on the fast water passing by.  As you can imagine, water towards the back of the boat is very fast -- all of it coming your way from the paddlers in the Timing Box and Engine Room.  It is very easy to paddle in the last few rows, so it is very important that this group apply steady pressure to their paddles throughout the race. 

Assisting in this process is the steersman who is in communication with the drummer (at the front of the boat).  Throughout the race, communication and understanding of the number of starting strokes, power strokes and finish strokes is key to a winning time.  The boat's length of forty feet may not seem like much, but when a terminator's paddle needs to enter the water at exactly the same time as the lead paddle, focus is the key.




In utter exhaustion, I hang my head as river water runs down my left arm and legs.   Despite my heavy breathing, I can hear our steersman yell "Hold water!"  

As our boat slows to the rush of bubbles and swirling water, I glance over to my left to see the other dragon boats slow to a stop. The sound of paddles resting on wood accompanies shouts of congratulations and joy.  "We did it," I mumble to those around me.  "We finished second!"

Unknown to us, we had finished with a time of 1:17:59.  That was less than two seconds faster than Hanson's Heroes, who had dogged us all day.  First place would go to The Ultimate Salon and Spa with a time of 1:12:80 which blew away the competition in the Corporate Mixed Division.  

Our boat gently rocks as the waves push against its side.  Bright blue, yellow and red boat houses line the edges of the Black River.  Many of them are crowded with spectators anxious for the final race of the day.  They shout words of encouragement and wave their arms, hoping to get our attention.

Our steersman turns the boat out of the warm breeze blowing from the South and tells us to gently paddle up river.  The change is dramatic.  Without the wind blowing against us, I feel like the boat is gliding on top on the water.  Almost like the Big Blue dragon had somehow drifted below us to carry the boat to its starting buoy.

I hear someone say that they are glad we have placed second, but now it means we will have to race again -- back to back.  The boating committee had decided it would be fun to have a regatta championship race where the top two finishers from the Corporate Division and the Community Division would face off in a final winner-take-all race.  The trouble with that idea is that the two winners from the Corporate Division will be at a disadvantage having just finished a race.  

Nonetheless, I am thrilled -- as are all of us on the boat -- because it means one more race.  One more opportunity "to get our bitch on."  One more chance at victory.

 

A dragon boat race is a combination of serious racing and spectacle.

Each participating team choses a unique shirt and name, indicating where they work (Vendi the Red), where they are from (Cashton Fitness Crew), a cause (Healing Dragons) or something funny (Dragon Bottom). Paddlers wear everything from pink tutus and green wigs to someone wearing a German dirndl dress or a beautiful Asian headdress and gown.

Craziest of them all, however, are the sweeps, or steersmen, who spend the day maintaining boat balance and communicating commands.  His or her understanding of the boat's environment and water conditions can make the difference between winning and losing.  Some of my favorite sweeps use humor through what they wear or what they say.  It is pretty easy to tell which ones have been in the sun too long -- they're usually the crazy ones wearing the florescent wig with a coconut bra and grass skirt.

Of course, the greatest spectacle comes in the boats themselves, with their large drums and colorful dragon heads and tail sections.  Opening ceremonies include the "awakening of the dragon" where the festival VIP is invited to dot the eyes on a dragon boat head with a brush dipped in red paint in order to reanimate the creature's bold spirit for hearty racing.

This year's Big Blue Dragon Boat Race in La Crosse has reanimated my own passion for the sport, which remains one of the more difficult things I have done.  It allows me to participate at a highly competitive level, yet spend time with a group of people who are equally at ease listening to Rob Zombie and AC/DC as they are eating dinner at a classy restaurant in downtown Dubuque.

While we didn't win this year's race, we did finish third out of fifty-two boats.  Pretty good for a group that only practiced a few times in the weeks leading up to the race.  Many of those who paddled with me will participate in other dragon boat races, including one to be held in Florida.  For these warriors, dragon boat racing is more than a once-a-year event.  It's an opportunity to challenge themselves with a passage in life to be enjoyed again and again.



"We are Mayo Heartland Express,
with different heart beats within the chest.
Twenty paddles and drummer become one stroke,
that's how we move this damn dragon boat!"

Fire Of The Dragon

A collective sigh of disappointment came from the people around me.

My fingers and wrist were shaking as the sweat and river water dripped from my hand and fell to the bottom of the boat.  Heat rose from my upper body, though my neck to the top of my head.  My life preserver felt constricting, preventing the deep breath my body needed to feel better.  

As I lifted my head and looked to my right, the red-scaled dragon boat sliced to the right and headed back up the river, its crew confident in another victory.

Heat number two was minutes away, and I needed to gather my strength for the last race of the day.

                       

Liz and I were in Dubuque, Iowa to race in the 26th Annual Dubuque Dragon Boat Race.  We were part of La Crosse Dragon Fire

 

, a ragtag team of hard working paddlers who wanted to win against some of Iowa's best dragon boaters.

Dubuque, on the shores of the Mississippi River, has been putting on dragon boat races since 1988, three years after this unique boat racing began spreading throughout the Midwest.  Since its inception, competitors from the U.S., Germany, Italy, New Zealand, Taiwan and Canada have competed for medals in novice, intermediate and elite divisions.  Recently, junior and breast cancer survivor teams have been added.

Our team chose wisely by putting us in the novice division, pitting us against teams from Dubuque and Chatham-Kent (Canada).

Our 18 paddlers (6 men and 12 women)  came from a variety of professions -- none of them professional racing.  We were doctors, nurses and technicians from Mayo Clinic in La Crosse.  We had a yoga instructor (which came in handy for warm ups). Clock and insurance salesmen, and even someone old enough to be retired.  One thing held us together:  pride.  We may not have been experienced dragon boat participants, but we were a determined bunch.

With our padded cycling pants, rowing gloves and water shoes, we had arrived to show the state of Iowa how much La Crosse loved the river.


                                                                                                              

As we paddled upstream to start the second heat, our sweep (at the back of the boat) told us to use a method he called 10-10-2.  Ten long strokes from a dead start, ten quicker strokes once we got going, and then a one-two punch through the middle one-hundred fifty meters.  Then let all hell break loose and go for broke on the final fifty meters.

"But coordinated," Mark said to my left.  "We have to remember that none of that will help if our strokes aren't coordinated."

"We need a good start," said Carolyn, the woman in front of me.  "If we can stay with them at the start, we will take them at the end."

I would be happy if I could get my hand to stop shaking.  It was so tired, that I could barely grasp the paddle.  My thoughts wandered back to our instructor in Winona who told us that if your hand, forearm or biceps was tired, you weren't paddling correctly.  Use the strength in your shoulder to pull through, he said, and your top hand to push down.  You should reach with your paddle, rotate your torso to the middle of the boat and locate your top hand over your lower elbow.  For optimum efficiency, the blade of the paddle needed to be perpendicular to the surface as you pushed through the water.  

"It should feel like you're pulling through cement," he had said.  "Pull and push.  Pull and push."  

I wondered what our drummer and flag puller (sitting quietly in the front of the boat) were thinking as they studied this collection of aging, sweating faces.  They would play a critical part in our finish, and we needed them to have confidence in our ability to paddle our boat smoothly and quickly to the end of the race.  As members of our team, they watched patiently for most of the 300 meter course.  Our sweep needed to position our boat through the currents toward the finish, and our puller needed to lean over the edge of the boat and grasp a flag before the other boat grasped theirs. 

Sounded simple until you stepped into the boat.

                   

 

Dragonboats are the basis of the team paddling sport of dragon boat racing -- an amateur water sport which has its roots in an ancient folk ritual of contending villagers held over the past 2000 years throughout southern China.

While competition has taken place annually for more than 20 centuries, dragon boat racing in the United States is a relatively new sport.

Most dragon boat races consist of a 300 meter course in a 40 foot fiberglass boat, weighing close to 1200 pounds.

In ancient Chinese times, it was believed sacrifices through drowning may have been involved in the earliest boat racing rituals.  During these races, violent clashes between the crew members of the competing boats involved throwing stones and striking each other with bamboo sticks.  Originally, paddlers or even an entire team falling into the water could receive no assistance from the onlookers as their misfortune was considered to be the will of the Dragon Deity which could not be interfered with.  Fortunately, our boats, with a crew of 21, were better sports (with no rocks to throw).

Dragon boats can vary in size, varying from our 40 foot span to ones that hold upwards of 50 or even 80 paddlers, plus a drummer and sweep.

There are also much longer races than the one we were participating in.  Our three hundred meter sprint was nothing compared to others.  The Three Gorges Dam Rally along the Yangtze River near Yichang, Hubei province, China covers up to 100 kilometers (62 miles) and the Ord River marathon in Australia covers over 50 kilometers.  The record holder is a relay event, on the Missouri River with a distance of 340 miles in a mere 38 hours and 5 minutes.


                                                         

As we positioned the boats for our 300 meters, I thought back to how we had gotten here.

In the morning's first two heats, we had gone up against a team called the Mississippi Tailbiters for a chance at a gold, silver or bronze medal.  Our combined time was 176.51, which was four seconds better than Saturday's best time.  But still not good enough to beat the Tailbiters from Dubuque.  So the good news was that we were stronger and faster than before.  The bad news was that we were heading into the consolation race later that afternoon.

At two o'clock, we were lined up against Lot One, a team of novice paddlers of similar age.  I think both teams were disappointed to be where they were, so every effort was being made to finish with a win.

Despite our best efforts (and after the first heat) we found ourselves less than a second behind heading into the second and final heat.  We had struggled with our start time, as half the boat paddled faster than the other.  With poor coordination, the boat struggled to hit its cruising speed, costing us valuable time.  Making matters worse, one of our rear paddlers broke his paddle during the start, reducing the push we desperately needed out of the gate.  Despite the poor start, we fought back.  By the time we reached the end we had made up most of our lost time.

 !

The dragon boat rocked slightly as I heard one of our team members say that our second heat times had been better than our remaining competitor's time.  But as the morning's race had shown, when pushed to compete, time trials were not a good indicator of how the race would go.

It was here and now, I thought -- as we switched lanes and positioned ourselves for the start of the final heat -- that we would find a way to beat this team. 

It was time to have fun.  
Time to hold our heads up and smile.  
Time to win.

                                                            

Our weekend consisted of two time trials on Saturday and then two competitive races on Sunday.  Our first two time trials were against a group of 11th graders (E.D 11th) and a team called Solid Steel.  We did well against the boat of eleventh graders, but reality set in as we faced off against the Dubuque Midtown Marina favorites, Solid Steel Dragon Boat Club.    

Solid Steel has seven boats that compete around the world -- most recently in the 2013 World Dragon Boat Championships in Hungary, where they won two golds, seven silver and 13 bronze medals helping Team USA to a third place finish.

Needless to say, we were intimidated, even though our sweep told us to ignore them.

Time trials involved teams from all three divisions, so we were not actually competing against them.  Easier said than done, as I found myself repeatedly watching their deep, strong strokes.  Their coordination was machine like, complete with a video camera attached to their drummer.  Our quess was that they used the video to train and monitor paddlers who were out of sync.  It was the only race where we were swamped by the wake created by the other dragon boat.  

But we were able to see how much hard work and coordination would be necessary to beat the teams that were in our division.  Sunday's race would tell us if we were good enough to medal, or bad enough to go home early.

                                                     

I tried not to look at the paddlers of Lot One, but the temptation was too great --  I wanted to know if they looked tired, triumphant or worried.  I quickly realized our competition looked just like us.  Some faces were drawn and tired.  Others were determined and eager for another chance.  A few were trying to encourage others by telling them to "give it their all" and "fight through the pain."  But as both boats settled into their race positions -- paddles forward -- a quiet settled over the dock area.  Everyone knew what they needed to do.  It was going to come down to who did it better.

The powerful, dual tone air horn blasted through the humid air.  I sunk my paddle to the hilt, pulled through the water and lifted.  Grunts and shouts of  ONE!  TWO!  THREE!  FOUR!  FIVE!  SIX!  SEVEN!  EIGHT!  NINE!  TEN! escaped each paddler.  My eyes were focused on Susan, our pace setter in the front of the boat, and I tried to follow her lead with every reach, rise, and push of the paddle.  

Another ten shouts and our boat hit its cruising speed.   Paddling became easier and the pace of our strokes increased.  The boat to our right appeared to be slightly ahead, despite a better start from our team.  A float passed by marking the first 100 meters, then a second as we continued to push.  The boats were side by side as a cry rose out from our boat to PUSH, PUSH, PUSH!  From the back of the boat someone was yelling PULL, PULL, PULL!  

It was the final fifty meters when our boat took its first lead of the race -- albeit a small one.  

 

Giving it my all, I continued to dig my paddle into the river, pulling water and paddle out only to drop it quickly into the water again and again.  It seemed to me that all sound had gone out of the world -- I could see lips moving, arms rising and paddles diving into the water, but I couldn't hear anything.  So focused on what I was doing, I shut out all sounds except my breathing and my heart as it pounded in my chest.
Suddenly a cheer from shore broke through the silence as our boats flashed past the finish line and our flag puller grabbed our flag.  By the smallest of margins, it appeared to me that we had taken the flag first.  But who knew...  The winning decision was still minutes away as the announcer waited for the final electronic results.

Heads sagged and bodies leaned forward as our boat coasted through a gentle turn.  We held our breathe in anticipation of the results.

Minutes later, the announcer spoke again.  "With a second heat of 87.03 seconds, the La Crosse Fire Dragons have a combined time of 174.73 seconds.  Lot One has a final time of 87.79 seconds and a combined total of 174.76 seconds."

At first my mind was too tired to understand what that meant.  Seconds later, our team let our a roar as we realized we had won by a total of .03 seconds.  The amount of time it takes for me to blink my eye was all that separated our win from a loss.

We had come to Dubuque looking for fun.  In the end, all of us left looking for win number two.